Polyester Athletes Foot

I come from the street. Had long without going out for drinks for obvious reasons.

is a typical summer night in Granada. Medium hot, but not too much fucking cool, but not much. The enough, yes, considering that yesterday suffered a heat hell. Let's say that you can be.

It's Friday, too, and typical tapas bars are packed with people and activity. Young people from across the city, neighborhood families, Zaidín. Children play in the streets at 12 pm while her parents take something in the next table. Just nobody wants to come back too soon to their small apartments converted into ovens.

I am with my friends in one of those tables. We are all Real Madrid, some of us are football fans, and two are really fans about us. We try not to talk about football, because it makes us nervous just thinking about what will happen on day 11. We try not to think about football, because as soon as we wear the most irrational optimism and pessimism more illogical.

We can not.

The bar-like everyone-has a huge flag of Spain. Lined blocks around us rojigualdo. All around the world, I mean everybody-party talks. Here and there they heard repeated several names. Torres, Villa, Fabregas, Pedrito, Casillas, Busquets.

The CD's street vendors are no longer limited to trade in audiovisual material. Now walk the table armed with dozens of flags, trumpets, bracelets, caps. T-shirts, both the first and the away kit "of various sizes and ridges.

the bar on TV appear, from time to time, images of the English national team in one of his victories.

Once we leave, we came across a breeding of two or three years. It is known that his father has bought a shirt at a street vendor-blue away kit, Number 10, Fabregas- and the little girl has been placed or have placed. Proudly dragging the edges on the floor, awkwardly wandering around the table muttering "'Spain, Spain!".

And I drove away, heading to my car, dodging the taxis that carry the flags on the antenna. The sellers have banded together to tell the collection, and I see how one of them takes one of the shirts and the test to stay. "Villa" said satisfied. "Mine is the de Torres" replied another.

Driving home, I think. I had three cups Europe, several minor leagues and trophies with Real Madrid, I've seen Spain win a tournament. But this city and this country had never smelled so much football.